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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241938">fair is fair is fair, or something</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshi_ni_natte/pseuds/hoshi_ni_natte'>hoshi_ni_natte</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gintama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:15:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,000</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25241938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoshi_ni_natte/pseuds/hoshi_ni_natte</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He has no choice but to leave himself to his hand’s learned routine for taking off the edge, for when the beauty of space inevitably leaves him dazzled and hollow in equal measure. But this time he isn’t fantasizing—he’s just <em>home.</em> Sakamoto always, <em>always</em> comes back to these assholes, his comrades-in-asininity, using gravity as an excuse for drawing close, crashing down, and falling in love. Over and <em>over</em> again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katsura Kotarou/Sakamoto Tatsuma, Katsura Kotarou/Sakamoto Tatsuma/Sakata Gintoki/Takasugi Shinsuke, Katsura Kotarou/Sakata Gintoki, Katsura Kotarou/Sakata Gintoki/Takasugi Shinsuke, Katsura Kotarou/Takasugi Shinsuke, Sakamoto Tatsuma/Sakata Gintoki, Sakamoto Tatsuma/Takasugi Shinsuke, Sakata Gintoki/Takasugi Shinsuke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fair is fair is fair, or something</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i wrote this for myself but you can read it too.. .. . .if you do, sorry.. .. . . . i don't even know where to begin . .. i started this on a whim and it just kept going and going and uhhh..... what warnings should i put. theyre all together it's fine dont think too hard. theyre all in love and horny. spoilers for benizakura arc but that only really matters for a bit. i wanted sakamoto to hear about it is all. also very minor references to kurokono arc but that also only matters for a bit.  what else. idk when to set this but just. pretend everything's fine with me.<br/>anyway.<br/>here it is. enjoy. or dont, it's fine</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>     “Hey,</em> did you hear??” Gintoki exclaims, words random and out of nowhere to Takasugi and Katsura; they’d be convinced his words weren’t directed anywhere in particular—how or why he even has attention to spare to something other than what’s right in front of him is beyond them—if he didn’t beam at the gap in the door and happily name it <em>“Tatsuma.”</em></p><p>     Takasugi only spares a peek through the corner of his good eye before returning his attention to Katsura, discouraging him from putting himself through the trouble of turning to look in the position he’s in by moving his hand, from where it’s been resting on Katsura’s nape to his chin to hold him still.</p><p>     “It’s kinda complicated but <em>long story short,”</em> Gintoki narrates, leaning over to comb his fingers through the bunch of Katsura’s hair that hasn’t fallen over his shoulders, before grabbing a fistful of it and tugging, for emphasis and effect: “Takasugi cut Zura’s hair one time.”</p><p><em>     “Too short,”</em> Takasugi snaps, and before Gintoki can make some childish comeback about his height he sets out to explain—not out of guilt, but he has no innocence to prove, either. “I was heavily involved but it wasn’t me, it was too half-assed. You know me better than that, Gintoki.” Takasugi reaches across with his other hand and smacks Gintoki’s away. “No matter how it seemed, even I was surprised when he showed up with short hair when he came out of that… <em>thing, </em>after I cut it down.”</p><p>     “I’m just glad he didn’t show up as a ghost,” Gintoki cackles, exaggeratedly rubbing his wrist where Takasugi hit him. “Was pretty sure he wouldn’t die from a haircut so I wanted to make fun of his makeover, but the truth is, in the end Zura <em>never</em> changes. You shouldn’t be surprised if he comes out of <em>anything</em> at this point, that thing ‘specially.”</p><p>     At that, Katsura raises himself, bracing a hand on Takasugi’s hip and pushing, a foot on Gintoki’s knee and kicking, to give himself enough allowance to move and properly glare at them even if he’s utterly driveling: “It’s not <em>‘that thing,’</em> it’s Elizabeth—!”</p><p>     “—My bad, Zura,” Takasugi offers apathetically, and while Katsura doesn’t accept his flimsy apology, he accepts the course of being directed back onto his elbows. Takasugi taps Katsura’s cheek. “That’s obviously the most important part of this story. I’ll kick Gintoki for cutting corners with the details.”</p><p>     “Bastard.” Gintoki ignores how much effort it takes to keep giving Takasugi the stink-eye when he so badly wants to look somewhere else, somewhere lower. The breathy chuckle Takasugi lets out when Katsura ducks down helps, and Gintoki glowers, “You’re the one who called Elizabeth ‘that thing’ first—”</p><p>     “You’re the one who hangs around Zura most,” Takasugi shoots back, more bite in it than intended because he’s annoyed that Gintoki’s distracting them. “And <em>you’re </em>the one who called Tatsuma over here just to—what?—tell him that story, so tell it properly. How’s Tatsuma gonna get anything when you just say whatever you want? You’re ruining my braincells, fuck off.”</p><p>     “Tatsuma has two braincells but he can get it, thanks very much,” Gintoki defends, and Sakamoto swears he can see Takasugi seething with murderous intent because instead of fucking off he keeps mouthing off, <em>“Takasugi-kun’s</em> braincells can go rest in peace for all I care. Such a baby, not appreciating Gin-san’s way of doing things. <em>You</em> fuck off!”</p><p>     The pacifist, peacemaker instinct kicks in, and that along with the realization that he’s been lying low for no reason urges Sakamoto to straighten up, stand to his full height, slide the door open. He presents himself to Gintoki, Takasugi, and Katsura, in all his imposing glory, just as he did on the bow of his semi-fancy cargo ship on that beach. Sakamoto is dizzy and he’s worried about keeling over despite facing horizon-wise, but this lightheadedness isn’t nausea, or seasickness; it’s something far from it, something far more fatal. So though he hesitates, he settles for scratching the back of his head and taking a single step forward. <em>“Now now, </em>to be honest I have literally no fuckin' idea what you guys are even talking about.”</p><p>     Gintoki shakes his head as if to pardon him. He wouldn’t have anything remotely positive to say about Sakamoto’s slowness if a) this weren’t <em>his</em> idea, and b) this weren’t pissing Takasugi off, so he nods to himself, rephrases with uncharacteristic patience: “How do I put this… You see, <em>Takasugi-kun,</em> in his <em>chuuni </em>plot to destroy the world, linked up with all sorts of scary guys.”</p><p>     “That much I get,” Sakamoto acknowledges, because that’s consistent with the bits of information he sporadically comes across regarding what they’re all busy with these days, and because Gintoki is getting so into it that it’s hard not to get with it with him. Not to mention, it’s plain <em>impressive</em> that he can keep that up with Katsura and Takasugi right there with him, the way they are. Not that Sakamoto’s paying attention to that too much…</p><p>     Gintoki carries on animatedly, “There was this guy who made some freaky AI-ish sword that grows on your arm and levels up by getting XP from cutting down strong guys, the works. You can imagine, right?”</p><p>     “Right," Sakamoto follows; this may be the first he’s hearing of this story, but it’s not tough to process. The way Gintoki describes it suffices when paired with the vast amount of Sakamoto’s experiences with his Kaientai surveying varieties of technology through trading, terrestrial or extra. It’s interesting, if anything.</p><p><em>     “Anyway</em>, one of Takasugi’s lackeys came after me and Zura with it. Freaky sword earned some juicy XP and we had to fight a bunch of space pirates after, but as you can see,” Gintoki gestures at himself and at Katsura, the motion narrow because they’re together, “we ain’t dead, and Takasugi’s ploy flopped. But Zura’s hair <em>was</em> short from it for a while.” Gintoki contentedly wraps his story up with a grin. “Felt like telling you because you always did have a thing for Zura’s long hair.”</p><p>     “He did, didn’t he.” Takasugi’s tone is flat, but his fingers are flirty in Katsura’s hair in true Sakamoto fashion, when he doesn’t think anyone is looking. Takasugi’s more subtle about it, but now he makes a show of caressing it like it’s precious silk, since to Sakamoto, it might as well be. “It always grew back in no time so no need to worry.”</p><p>     “True… Tatsuma might not know, but Zura’s hair’s always been this way, ever since we were kids.” Gintoki flutters his fingertips through Katsura’s hair now, too, gently.<em> Lovingly.</em> He meets Sakamoto’s eyes, shining. “So good for you, Tatsuma.”</p><p>     Sakamoto bows his head slowly, albeit uncertainly. He remembers what Takasugi said a few exchanges ago and taps an index finger to his head to save it from confusion and deadly assumptions. “Did you really call me over just to tell me that, Kintoki?”</p><p>     “You said you were on earth so I thought now’s as good a time as any.” Some illogical logic that is, convincing Gintoki that happening to be on the planet is of comparable logistics as happening to drop by a neighborhood in town, enough to permit last-minute plans in light of. “Besides, will you stand for that? Takasugi’s bat-shit insane. I’d hold a grudge if I were you, I wanna see him get his ass kicked for messing with Zura’s hair.”</p><p><em>     “Ahahaha!”</em> Sakamoto laughs, a genuine sound from his chest that betrays his candid thoughts on the prospect: “Like I stand a chance against <em>Takasugi!!</em>” Sakamoto relaxes as he reasons, “He can take us all down with his fists, don’t be <em>silly!</em> And even before I became this way—” he folds his right arm behind his back, “—I had the common sense not to challenge Takasugi to a sword fight, no friggin’ way. Plus I get the feeling that even if we showed down with guns he’d <em>still</em> win, and he doesn’t even know how to use one—!”</p><p>     “—I do,” Takasugi corrects, just in time to cut Sakamoto off because he’s rambling. He’s learned amidst impressions that while Sakamoto’s loudness and talkativeness are debatable talents, they’re also nervous habits, ones his body had to develop because Sakamoto, for his incredible ability to put his money where his mouth is, has zero proficiency for self-preservation. And to Takasugi, there are only a handful of people who don’t have to be lightly cautious or deathly afraid to try to flatter him; Sakamoto’s never been one of them. He looks curious, though, intrigued, even.</p><p>     Before Sakamoto can think much of his heart skipping beats as he pictured it in his head, <em>Takasugi</em> with a gun, (‘oh, what a surprise’ and ‘is it just me or is that kinda sexy?’) Gintoki chimes in, sharing in his curiosity and intrigue: “Did that chick teach you?”</p><p><em>     “Well,”</em> is all Takasugi bothers to answer with. He’s not about to boast acquiring the skills to duet with the shamisen from another member of his Kiheitai either, because guns and the shamisen are irrelevant at a time and place and situation like this. Unlike Takasugi’s hopeless, incorrigible childhood friends, <em>Sakamoto </em>has never had the heart to hurt him.</p><p>     Gintoki wants to have the last word, so he comments like it matters: “Props to her for not giving up like five minutes in, I’m moved.” He tilts his head at Sakamoto, grin lopping to one side. “But there you have it, Tatsuma. Takasugi still prefers a sword and his fists to a gun, but isn’t it reassuring to know that he can shoot you dead, too?”</p><p>     Sakamoto’s eyebrows draw together, his lips purse. “You wound me, Kintoki…” Takasugi makes an approving noise in the back of his throat and Sakamoto catches Gintoki relishing it. He almost leaves it at that because no good ever comes out of them acting that way with each other, but then confusion has him waving his hands around restlessly. “Wait a <em>second!</em> Weren’t you just trying to pit me against Takasugi? Why are <em>you two</em> ganging up on me now?”</p><p>     Gintoki and Takasugi share a look, for a fraction of a second, then they shrug at the same time. “‘Cause it wouldn’t be fair to gang up on just one of you.”</p><p>     “A… <em>hahaha…”</em> comes Sakamoto’s laugh again, quieter this time when it trails off as a shaky exhale; he’s only slightly unsettled with the way they’re sizing him up. Sakamoto manages to muster enough of himself back from the edges of space where his mind fled as soon as he got here, to ask one more thing: “…Unfair to <em>who, </em>exactly?” To him? To <em>Zura?</em> Or to those two <em>demons?</em></p><p>     It truly is a terrible, terrifying, terrific thing, when Gintoki and Takasugi make the same face—the same smirk, with the same look in their eye. And the same gravity, that’s weighing down on Sakamoto’s chest and making it hard for him to breathe, as if this whole situation hasn’t already taken his breath away.</p><p>     Matching <em>sick</em> smirks and the hilarity of the reality that for all the passion with which they go at each other’s throats they still finish each other’s sentences <em>aside,</em> Takasugi speaks up, for Sakamoto’s sake because he’s standing there dumbfounded and uncomprehending, “You talk as if <em>anything</em> is ever fair, Tatsuma.”</p><p>     “Damn straight,” Gintoki adds, enthusiastically agreeing with Takasugi. The way their eyes gleam when they look at each other as if they weren’t bickering literally a minute ago brings Sakamoto back to his senses, enough for him to step up and point an accusing finger and bounce it to and fro between them:</p><p>     “You’re contradicting what you just said! And don’t suddenly start acting buddy-buddy over that! It’s depressing!” Sakamoto runs out of breath blurting that out and when he slows down to catch it, he realizes he’s come in, come way too close.</p><p>     “What’re you saying? This is as <em>buddy-buddy</em> as we get,” Takasugi returns, the smugness on his face surely something straight out of a nightmare since it’s Gintoki’s trademark; Sakamoto decides that they’re absolutely irredeemable, because before he can step back Gintoki tells him in a special sarcasm specific to Takasugi: “Read the room, will you?”</p><p>     Sakamoto <em>wishes</em> he actually has two braincells, wishes he <em>can’t</em> read. This close, it’s too clear that his ex-comrades/current-<em>whatever</em>s are enjoying themselves, enjoying each other. It’s choking him up, making him sweat. Driving him insane. Sakamoto comes to the conclusion that this must be a hell customized personally for him, for abandoning his space ship and crew in the middle of business to make off with every one of them—two at a time at most—even though those rendezvous were far and few in between over the last doomed decade and across the wide, wild galaxy.</p><p>     Seeing the three of them all at once is dangerously overwhelming—it's like torture, and frankly, Sakamoto is so turned on he could cry. He actually might at this rate, because that futon frames them so beautifully and so perfectly that it’s dredging up from deep within him, along with his horniness, the irrational insecurity of being left out and left behind even if he’s the one who upped and left them on this planet for dead.</p><p>     Sakamoto’s back to scratching his hair. It’s all he can do to avert his gaze even if he knows in his heart and in his gut and in his crotch that the one good look he took is enough to ensure that the scene ahead will <em>forever</em> haunt him. Resigning himself to his fate of becoming a ghost bound to this earth and forced to roam it aimlessly for all of eternity by the memory of Katsura getting spitroasted by Gintoki and Takasugi, Sakamoto sighs solemnly. Then, he spins on a heel to get the fuck out of here like he ought to. “Yup, sorry! Story’s done so I’ll take my leave—”</p><p><em>     “I </em>say when you leave.”</p><p>     Sakamoto freezes instantaneously, a chill running down his spine at the sound of Katsura’s voice, leaving him tingling from the ends of the hair on his head to the tips of his toes. When he turns around Katsura’s gotten on his feet, putting his hair and his kimono back in order. He’s gingerly tucking his hands into the sleeves of his haori, and he gives off some dignified air that has Sakamoto simply looking away from the fact that the guy has his episodes of gullibility, and that he was <em>very clearly</em> warming cocks just a moment ago.</p><p>     They’re all still dressed, Sakamoto belatedly observes—he’s been out of it this entire time. Since he’s going to hell either way, Sakamoto allows himself the privilege to ogle. Takasugi’s forgone modesty with the neckline of his yukata plunging, and the zipper on Gintoki’s shirt always did go that low. The rest of their clothes are in disarray but they’re on, only open where they have to be; the way Takasugi’s legs are exposed past his obi because the hems are hanging obscenely far apart, or the way Gintoki has his pants unzipped and halfway down his thighs shamelessly, are neither new nor unfamiliar to Sakamoto. The last thing he does take note of is the two sheathed blades and a wooden sword floating along the waves of Gintoki’s discarded yukata.</p><p>     Katsura comes to a stop right in front of Sakamoto, commanding his assent even when he has to stand on his toes to give him a greeting kiss on his cheek. Sakamoto’s knees threaten to give out from under him just so he can drag Katsura down with him and claim full kisses, but a part of him thinks that this is for the better. Katsura’s lips are flushed and swollen, and if Sakamoto had to taste Takasugi on them he may spontaneously combust. Regardless, when Katsura puts a weightless hand on his shoulder and whispers a <em>“Sit,”</em> Sakamoto goes down without any struggle. He slips his sandals off and folds his legs under him humbly, places his hands on his lap, level. </p><p>     He always seems to forget that Katsura has this certain charisma, the kind that let him rally hundreds of men into battle but also determine when to retreat with dignity. And Sakamoto is just <em>Sakamoto;</em> if he can lie and say he isn’t just weak for Katsura he can blame it on his chronic inadequacy as a soldier. He’s at a loss for words.</p><p>     Meanwhile, the three of them always seem to forget that Sakamoto has one strength unique to him, that no number of years practicing the art of sword in a dojo can trump: negotiation. Though they remember, because finding Sakamoto lowering his head without trying to talk his way out of this feels a little bit like winning a war. It’s a sentiment lost on all of them, for reasons they don’t talk about, but that’s what they assume it’s like.</p><p>     Even fully aware of that, Gintoki can’t help thinking that Katsura must have Sakamoto under some spell. Takasugi, however, never discounts that part and parcel of Katsura’s kindness is a latent cruelty, and it’s a real question when he raises: “What’s this, Zura, you gonna make Tatsuma just sit there?”</p><p>     “For now,” Katsura says firmly. “You guys threw him into this without an explanation.” He peers at Sakamoto and his expression is just a touch regretful, apologetic. “You can say it, they’re horrible.”</p><p>     “They’re horrible,” Sakamoto repeats blithely, “I’m losing my mind.” He lends himself to Katsura’s touch and revels in the way his hair brushes down on him, tickling his face pleasantly as he bends down to take his sunglasses off for him, fold them up and set them aside. “You’re gonna tell me what’s going on here, right?”</p><p>     “Mm,” Katsura affirms, stretching his back as he throws Gintoki and Takasugi a frown. “Keep yourselves busy, I’ll be with Sakamoto.” Their subsequent reactions are violent, oblivious to how that took Sakamoto aback, too, but Katsura’s already carding through his hair like it’s most relaxing. After all, he <em>does </em>have a soft spot for soft things. While it’s a given that there’s nothing soft about Takasugi, Gintoki and Sakamoto have their pretty heads. The only recollection he has of getting to play with the former’s was when he was drunk or asleep, but the latter leans into him every time, without fail. Katsura admits, he may have a thing for Sakamoto’s hair, too.</p><p>     Sakamoto’s eyes won’t stop straying towards Gintoki and Takasugi, though, to how they indignantly proceed to make out without Katsura, clawing at each other’s clothes and groping each other in haste. To be blunt, they look like they’re about to beat the crap out of each other. But when they keen into it, it doesn’t cross anyone’s mind to break them up. It’s a heated treat to behold. Katsura knows it too, all too well. But Sakamoto is on his knees before him and that’s something, another <em>very</em> good thing.</p><p>     He’s barely been touched all night and he’s starved for it—not that he’d tell Gintoki or Takasugi—and Sakamoto’s here. Katsura hasn’t finished uttering an admittedly sweetened <em>“Indulge me?”</em> but Sakamoto’s already lifting himself to his hips and moving his kimono aside. Because leave it to Sakamoto, thick and dense but a pleasure pirate through and through, to notice this kind of thing even before he finds him leaking. Katsura lets them have it. “Dealing with those two is such a chore.”</p><p>     “You’re an expert at getting in between them though,” Sakamoto compliments, shifting closer on his knees and taking Katsura into his hand. He gives him a tentative stroke and a peck, for praise. “I mean ‘in between’ <em>literally, </em>by the way. Feels like I’m a hundred years too early to get on your level.”</p><p>     “Nonsense, Sakamoto.” Katsura musses his hair in thanks nevertheless. He cups Sakamoto’s jaw and tilts his head upward, pooling saliva in his mouth before rolling it off his tongue, onto Sakamoto’s willing lips. Then he presses himself against them. “This is all levels of messed up and you know it.”</p><p>     “I guess, yeah,” Sakamoto murmurs, slipping a hand farther into Katsura’s kimono to bring him even closer so he can push in—not too far. He blinks up at him curiously when he draws back, and the mix of their spit is cold on his cheek when he holds Katsura there to finally question, “But what was the deal here anyway, Zura?”</p><p>     Sakamoto unconsciously waits for him to go <em>‘It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura!’ </em>like he’s developed a knee-jerk inclination to, but then he finds that the reason Katsura pauses is simply for thought; he’d be stumped if he had to explain a situation like this, too, after all. He gives him time, in that meantime considering how even though Gintoki and Takasugi have freely called him Zura a number of times, he reserved the protest for his Renho partner’s honor. He’s <em>comfortable,</em> being just Zura here and now, in spite of his mock-disappointed huff, “You know how they have the same <em>horrid </em>taste for these types of things? You can guess what happened.” His outward exasperation when he rolls his eyes can’t hide his fondness.</p><p>     Sakamoto purrs around Katsura, sympathizing anyway. “Guessing they both wanted you tonight. That’s tough, Zura… ” The words leave his mouth, messy with drool, and when Katsura nods with a grave <em>“exactly,” </em>Sakamoto gets it through his head that Katsura doesn’t <em>need</em> any of his sympathy. He’d joined in their madness himself. “And? Who did you prefer?”</p><p>     “Ooh, how naive, Sakamoto.” Katsura slides past Sakamoto’s parted lips again and dips into his throat with purpose, fucks it once, twice. “Would <em>you </em>know who to choose between them? Supposing that I <em>could, </em>if I said anything those two might never speak to each other for the rest of their sorry lives.”</p><p>     Sakamoto coughs when Katsura pulls out. He takes the hem of Katsura’s haori to wipe his chin with, unbothered. “That’s assuming they don’t end each other ASAP…”</p><p>     “Ah, you’re right about that.” Katsura moves to enter again, puts his hand over Sakamoto’s to rub his knuckles with the pad of his thumb while he slowly rocks his hips. “Maybe I was subconsciously avoiding that outcome, too.”</p><p>     “What’d you end up doing?” The words don’t make it out this time because, well, Sakamoto’s mouth is full, but they’re registered well enough to be responded to accordingly:</p><p>     “I had them compete.” Sakamoto begins to focus his energy on going down on him, so Katsura continues without being prompted. “Just so it’s clear, I wasn’t about to let them draw their blades over something like this. You know, my dear Sakamoto, a sword-fighting match record between two men is quite a sacred thing—”</p><p>     “—Your ass is a sacred thing, Zura.”</p><p>     Sakamoto pops off at Gintoki’s voice past them, and he lets out a sloppy laugh, <em>“Ahahaha, </em>nice one, Kintoki!”</p><p>     Gintoki looks so pleased with himself that Takasugi goes out of his way to knee him in the gut. He also glares daggers at Sakamoto, because kissing Gintoki’s so boring that he could listen in on everything— though he wonders how Katsura was even managing to have a full conversation with Sakamoto with his dick in his mouth. Color Takasugi surprised to find that not all of them fucks Sakamoto’s fragile throat with the ulterior motive of shutting him up. It never made sense to him how those two connected so well beyond being enjoyable to marvel at.</p><p>     Crossing his arms over his chest, Katsura promptly ignores Gintoki and resumes, “I didn’t trust them not to draw it out. When they’re serious they could take upwards of three days going at it non-stop. We don’t have that kind of time.”</p><p>     “So you don’t!” Sakamoto snickers, “Made them do janken or what?” He drags his tongue along Katsura and takes him into his mouth again when he tugs on his hair in place of a yes. Sakamoto reflects that that sounded about right; Gintoki and Takasugi would sooner fight each other to within an inch of their lives than settle for a draw, because they keep count. Katsura can get into anything, but bloody sex, if not for consoling one another, is out of the question; if any of them are actually into that (which Gintoki and Takasugi <em>are),</em> count Katsura out. In the first place, swords and janken are different, and for all the bullshit life’s put Gintoki through, Sakamoto can expect lady luck to favor him just a tad more. He garbles out his judgment: “And Kintoki won, huh?”</p><p>     “—Like <em>hell</em> he did,” Takasugi snarls, having heard that perfectly, because he’s <em>still</em> listening, the little voyeur. He let it slide when Katsura joked about them never speaking to each other again, but Sakamoto saying that is unacceptable. Ticked off, he shoves Gintoki down with a hand around his neck.</p><p>     “What’s that supposed to mean?!” Gintoki gasps, grappling. His voice goes up a notch, “Choking can wait when it’s just us two!” Gintoki reaches up and flicks Takasugi in the forehead, rolling out of his grip as he releases him to readjust his bandages. Gintoki guards his neck. “Tatsuma, <em>you jerk!”</em></p><p>     Oh <em>man, </em>Sakamoto <em>so </em>doesn’t need to know that they’re into choking, too. More importantly, Sakamoto has to stop fervently kissing Katsura all over to take offense. “Why are you mad?! Shouldn’t you be happy I don’t think you’re a loser?”</p><p>     “Don’t wanna hear that from someone like you!” Gintoki grumbles, but he drops it soon in favor of letting Takasugi straddle him, so he can vent his frustrations into him and no one else. They’re going to cut and bruise each other’s lips like that, but that’s not Sakamoto’s business anymore, those idiots. He makes up his mind to just forget about it, readies himself to try to swallow as much of Katsura as he can. But at that moment, Katsura declares:</p><p>     “It was Takasugi’s win.”</p><p>     Sakamoto gags on virtually nothing. <em>“Takasugi??!”</em></p><p>     “Mm.” Katsura massages the back of Sakamoto’s ear to ease him. “They went nearly a hundred rounds with stalemates—it took a while but still less than fighting with swords would—until Takasugi bested Gintoki.”</p><p><em>     “Bested?</em> That doesn’t mean shit!” Gintoki flips him and Takasugi over, pinning him down. “Janken’s all luck!”</p><p>     “Is that it?” Unresisting, Takasugi simpers, “I feel like I remember someone <em>confidently</em> talking out of his ass about how janken’s all about timing and strategies when Zura suggested it… Heh, sore loser.”</p><p>     “Look who’s talking, little dojo challenger <em>Takasugi-kun!”</em></p><p>     “Gintoki, you rotten piece of—”</p><p>     Sakamoto cringes at their squabbling and goes back to Katsura instead, drowning out their weird catfight sex. “So how’d it happen that Kintoki… Uh.” Sakamoto gulps; there’s no need (nor way) to mind his manners when they’ve gone this far, is there? He comes out with it: “Why does Kintoki get to have your ass?”</p><p>     “Oh, that?” Katsura guides Sakamoto’s lips apart again, sliding into his mouth for good. “They were fighting for who gets to go first. Takasugi wanted to take his time with my mouth but Gintoki couldn’t wait.”</p><p>     Past Katsura’s hips while he’s bobbing his head, Sakamoto makes eye contact with Gintoki while he’s rutting into Takasugi. Sakamoto <em>had</em> assumed that Gintoki won, purely because he was the one inside of Katsura, but now that he thinks about it Katsura’s mouth <em>is</em> plenty prizeworthy. He’s never mentioned it because he has enough courtesy not to compare the people he loves and sleeps with and loves to sleep with to their faces (and because the mere thought of it is enough to arouse Sakamoto during times he absolutely should not be aroused). But with the way things are, it seems Gintoki and Takasugi are of the same opinion as him: Zura gives the best head, hands down. And, it’s just like Takasugi to hog that all for himself.</p><p>     He gets why Gintoki couldn’t wait, but he also gets why Takasugi wanted to take his time. So when Sakamoto comes off it’s less for breath and more to voice his extremely valuable opinion: “I guess I get it, and not to take Takasugi’s side, but…” He fondles the flesh of Katsura’s thighs idly. “Isn’t that kinda unfair to him? He won fair and square, why’s he have to share with Kintoki?”</p><p>     “Drag him, Tatsuma,” Takasugi mumbles tonelessly against a bite mark he’s just left on Gintoki’s collarbone. He throws his head back to narrow his eye at Sakamoto after. “But it’s also unfair that I have to share with you, now, too.”</p><p>     Threatened, and seized by the <em>cute </em>pout on Takasugi’s face, (but mostly threatened,) Sakamoto back-tracks without second thought: <em>“Then again, </em>you should thank Kintoki. Zura gives <em>mind-blowing</em> blow jobs when he’s getting fucked.”</p><p>     For a split second, Takasugi almost falls for it, vividly recalling the way Katsura’s whines feel around him when Gintoki or Sakamoto fucks him. <em>Almost. </em>He doesn’t though. He kicks Gintoki off of him—an easy thing to do because he’s dazed from getting grazed by his teeth—and scowls: “Don’t look so pleased with yourself unless you’re asking to get kicked, too, Tatsuma. If you turn out to be right, then we don’t even need you here. Fucking waste of space.”</p><p>     “Ahaha, that’s <em>scathing, </em>Takasugi.” Sakamoto licks his lips languidly, craving the heat of that foul, foul mouth of his. He bites his tongue instead. “I didn’t invite myself or anything so don’t take it out on me. Or <em>do,</em> I won’t mind.”</p><p>     Takasugi lets out a <em>hmph</em>, approaching them himself. Again, <em>zero </em>modesty when he moves to get on his feet because by now he’d lost his obi to Gintoki. Takasugi places a hand on Katsura’s waist and pulls him aside. Then wordlessly, he leans down to meet Sakamoto’s lips, locking and latching on for only a second before disengaging to spit in his mouth.</p><p>     Sakamoto closes his eyes and swallows. Shudders. <em>“Fuck, </em>you guys are killing me…”</p><p>     “Good,” Takasugi drawls, lowering himself on a knee to reach under Sakamoto’s scarf, to teethe at the skin there and scratch his nails along the neckline of his shirt. He bites down on his collarbone, deliberately marking him to match Gintoki, and works his hands under Sakamoto’s coat where he can’t see, before withdrawing altogether.</p><p>     Sakamoto opens his eyes again to find that Katsura is back on his elbows and knees on the futon, Takasugi’s fingers harsh in his hair while he ravages his mouth. And, Gintoki isn’t there anymore. No, Gintoki’s just moved, soundlessly settled behind him. Sakamoto feels the weight of Gintoki’s hands on his shoulders before he moves them to tip his head back.</p><p>     “Tatsuma, open,” Gintoki orders, and he’s glad to hear no complaints out of him when he does as he’s told. He touches the flat of his tongue to Sakamoto’s, and it’s bitter from Takasugi, salty from Katsura. Now it’s all that and sweet from him, and it draws out a groan from the depths of Sakamoto’s lungs. It’s such a depraved thing to take pleasure in but they do this to him, to Gintoki’s amusement. “Did you notice Takasugi took Zura away before you could touch his hair? After I told you such an epic story about it, too… Told you you should’ve held a grudge.”</p><p>     Sakamoto registers Gintoki’s words as well as he registers Gintoki undressing him of his coat, which is not very well, because the dizziness is coming back with a vengeance and hitting him harder this time around, on top of his knees and his neck aching.</p><p><em>     “Tatsuma,”</em> Gintoki calls again, patting his cheek with a hint of force so he’d come back to his senses and notice already: “Takasugi stole your gun when you weren’t looking.”</p><p><em>     That </em>brings Sakamoto down from his preemptive high. His fight or flight response activates, because not only is his gun gone from his person now, but the one who has it is <em>Takasugi</em>. When he looks ahead again, he finds his trusty gun pointed right at him, Takasugi’s expression dead-serious; Sakamoto seriously, <em>seriously</em> resolves that it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.</p><p>     A breath later, Takasugi’s straight face breaks into a crooked smirk, that light, sharp laugh he does escaping through his teeth. Katsura’s eyes are wide, and his jaw hurts, but he’s not surprised that Takasugi would even kid around like that, even though his finger wasn’t on the trigger, and even though he’s tossing it still locked towards the pile with their swords. What shocks Katsura is that Sakamoto didn’t even <em>flinch. </em></p><p>     Sakamoto lets out the breath he’d unconsciously held, the adrenaline from his unconscious self-preservation instinct draining out with it— Takasugi is both that cause and that effect to him. Sakamoto looks down at his hands, and they’re empty, longing for the safety of Katsura’s hair after his overdue comprehension of what Gintoki said before… the whole gun thing. Untucking his legs from under him, he falls back to find Gintoki’s sat down behind him. He rests between Gintoki’s knees and grumbles at the indifferent Takasugi: “Scheming son of a bitch.”</p><p>     Gintoki has to crane his neck to reach Sakamoto’s nape thanks to the height difference, but he does it with no complaints in kind. “You really shouldn’t play into Takasugi’s games like that,” he mutters against his heated skin, and it’s a mellow admonishing more than anything. He gives a nudge and lets go of Sakamoto, standing up again and dusting his boxers off (he’d lost his pants to Takasugi, too), before maneuvering around Sakamoto. There’s a smile gracing his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes with Sakamoto in their sight. “It makes me wanna mess with you, too.”</p><p><em>     “Gintoki…?”</em> Sakamoto starts, reaching up to take his hand, but Gintoki’s quick to slip just a hairline out of his grasp. When he opens his mouth to let out a nervous laugh, he has to swallow it down with Gintoki’s spit, and Sakamoto thinks he’s running the real risk of passing out when Gintoki looks down at him, down <em>on </em>him, eyes dark and half-lidded like that, voice low:</p><p>     “So maybe I will.”</p><p>     Thoroughly feeling like he’d just gotten cursed, Sakamoto curses “You <em>fucking</em> sadist…” as Gintoki walks off to leave him untouched in his pants and on his own. He laughs to himself dryly and ponders how maybe, just maybe, Gintoki was doing the universe a favor when he refused to travel it with Sakamoto all those years ago, since no one’s as ruthless as him, after all. Besides, space doesn’t exactly need a yorozuya… or does it? Either way. It’s a big deal to make out of being teased, sure, but Sakamoto can’t seem to reject the possibility that Gintoki could make all the world his bitch if he didn’t have such a kind soul. That shit’s actually priceless. Though as a result, when Gintoki’s able to bring out this side of him to those who can accommodate it, it’s nothing shy of perverse.</p><p>     “I really did call you over here to tell you that story, it was a good one,” Gintoki insists, occupied with a bottle of cheap strawberry-flavored lube. “But there was one more thing. Decided it by myself, ‘cause, well, that’s how I am.” Sakamoto pretends to ignore how Gintoki didn’t look anyone in the eye as he said that, because it’s over in an instant and he’s wearing that foolish grin again, leering.</p><p>     Takasugi is staring at Gintoki, not caring when Katsura twists around to try to get to him, too. Neither of them are unwelcoming of Sakamoto for reasons mutual and their own, but Gintoki’s making it sound like he was plotting something aside from getting his nonsense story across. “What on earth were you planning to do, Gintoki?”</p><p>     Gintoki hums, as if he <em>ever </em>actually takes anything they say into consideration. Whether they disagree or agree (but especially when they agree), he only ever goes ahead and does what’s best for all of them. Right now, it’s gliding his fingers into the soft of Katsura’s insides before taking them out, lining himself up and sinking back in lazily. Katsura’s back arches through the restretch, and Gintoki smooths his hair, uses it as leverage to bottom out and guide his mouth back onto Takasugi where it belonged. Gintoki casts that still half-lidded gaze in Sakamoto’s direction, smiles that smile again: “I wanted to give Tatsuma a show.”</p><p>     Sakamoto’s heart stops.</p><p>     “You get front-row seats to watch me and Takasugi fuck Zura <em>real </em>good.” Gintoki punctuates it with a thrust, a smack on Katsura’s skin and the gasp it rips out of Takasugi. “Not that I need to ask but…” Gintoki glances down inconspicuously between Sakamoto’s legs. “How are you liking it so far, mister? And be honest.”</p><p>     “It’s…” Sakamoto clears his suddenly-parched throat, unabashedly fixated on the way Katsura’s trembling trying to keep his composure as Takasugi and Gintoki ultimately start to move in him. “Something…” Sakamoto manages, voice cracking, “It’s something, I’ll give you that.”</p><p>     “You’re usually a better sweettalker but I’ll take it.” Gintoki pets Katsura’s hair again, gathering it all over one of his shoulders for Sakamoto’s viewing pleasure, like that isn’t the least of it. “Naturally, this comes at a price. What’s that you always say…?” He puts a finger to his cheek in a gesture of undoubtedly fake thoughtfulness. “…Give and take, was it?”</p><p>     That’s the punchline, <em>of course</em> it is. Sakamoto’s incurably stupid but he’d be a goner to sharks in the sea if he couldn’t at least tell from the start that being here would cost him, and heftily at that. It’s just that he’s acutely aware that no matter the reevaluation or reassessment, he wouldn’t know if he even has that much in him, if at all. He shrugs, palms to the ceiling, and shakes his head. “Wouldn’t you be selling yourself short, Kintoki? What if I’ve got nothing to give?”</p><p>     “Hm?” There’s a glint in Gintoki’s eyes, mischievous and satisfied like he got the exact answer he wanted from Sakamoto’s question. He puts on an act like he’s nonchalantly bargaining, even if he’s already deadset on how this is going to pan out: “Then just give one back…” Fingertip to the air, he encircles the view he has of Sakamoto, sitting there and straining. “<em>A show. </em>Then it’s a fair trade, isn’t it?”</p><p>     Sakamoto blinks. This must be some con, or some scam, it <em>has </em>to be. On whose side, he can’t tell anymore, but for better or for worse, this is <em>Gintoki, </em>and Sakamoto never, ever really stood a chance against him, either. His hands fall, clenching at his sides, but Gintoki doubts it’s because he’s sour about negotiations falling through before they even started. Gintoki’s unwillingly heard Sakamoto out about failed ventures, and he’s always just taken it all in stride as part of business. So it’s no wonder that Gintoki knows which buttons to push, which strings to pull. Sakamoto accepts that Gintoki really is just as ruthless as ever.</p><p>     “I’m telling you to touch yourself and get off to this,” Gintoki clarifies, pushing into Katsura and pushing Katsura onto Takasugi, the sound it elicits from the three of them shooting straight to Sakamoto’s dick—isn’t it easier to just think with his dick when he’s with these three? It isn’t like Sakamoto to be troubled over the nitty-gritty anyway. Gintoki moans, “Get off to <em>us, </em>Tatsuma.<em>”</em></p><p>     So that’s how it is. Eyes never leaving Sakamoto, Gintoki goes at an increasingly torturous pace with Katsura, nails digging into his hips so he doesn’t try to fuck back. And Takasugi’s going as far back into Katsura’s throat as he can manage, only looking through the corner of his good eye again. They’re watching him, <em>waiting. </em>Defeated and relieved, and without having to worry about his gun falling out of them, Sakamoto undoes his pants, much to a collective gratification.</p><p>     By the time Sakamoto has a hand around himself he’s not even sure how long he can last. Not very long, he’s guessing— not when Gintoki starts fucking Katsura so deep he’s forgetting how to breathe and freeing his throat up for Takasugi’s taking, and not when his heart’s going into overdrive. He has no choice but to leave himself to his hand’s learned routine for taking off the edge, for when the beauty of space inevitably leaves him dazzled and hollow in equal measure. But this time he isn’t fantasizing—he’s just <em>home.</em> Sakamoto always, <em>always</em> comes back to these assholes, his comrades-in-asininity, using gravity as an excuse for drawing close, crashing down, and falling in love. Over and <em>over</em> again.</p><p>     Sakamoto isn’t sure why he’s having sappy, frivolous, <em>romantic</em> thoughts about stars all of a sudden. Maybe he’s trying not to cum from so little like a virgin or a voyeur or shit. Maybe he wants to enjoy this for just a while longer. Who knows when he’ll ever get treated to something like this again? He’s a positive thinker but this development happened on a whim, and he has to be smart about his chances. He can only slow his hand down, squeeze, regulate his breathing.</p><p>     He can only sit back and watch, too. Takasugi is growling at Gintoki because he’s going too fast but he can’t stop fucking Katsura’s face either. Takasugi’s lurched over, holding Katsura to him desperately, and Sakamoto wonders if it’s him who’s at their mercy and not Katsura, not himself—because Gintoki ignores him to fuck Katsura even harder, and though that makes Katsura falter, he doesn’t let up on Takasugi either. Takasugi’s bangs have fallen to cover his good eye now, too, but it’s trained intently on Sakamoto still, who bites his lip and fucks into his fist helplessly, because he can’t afford the wait nor self-consciousness when Takasugi coming apart with him is fine, too, too fine.</p><p>     Un/surprisingly, Takasugi finishes first, spending himself into Katsura’s mouth. Even when he’d warned Katsura that he was close, yanked his hair, Katsura was too stubborn, too caught up getting fucked to stop now. That’s just him all over<em>,</em> hardheaded but willing to compromise—when Takasugi recomposes himself enough to tell him “You’re a mess,” Katsura sighs like he’s proud of it. And Takasugi hates to admit it but Gintoki’s right, for once— Zura never does change. Takasugi finds himself pushing the damp hair out of Katsura’s face, finds the corners of his mouth curving up when he calls, <em>“Zura.”</em></p><p>     The only indication that Katsura even hears him is a clumsy nod, and even then, Takasugi can’t be sure it was in response to him. Gintoki’s fallen forward, chest flush against Katsura’s back while carelessly moving his hips, and he’s whispering something into his ear, something that makes him part his lips and let Gintoki dip his fingers into the mess Takasugi made in his mouth. He smirks up at him, “Takasugi…<em>You’re </em>the mess. I mean, already…?” Gintoki drags his soiled fingers down the skin on Takasugi’s stomach. “Was watching Tatsuma <em>that </em>fun?”</p><p>     All at once, Takasugi realizes: he’s been <em>played.</em> That <em>sneer, </em>he’s seen countless times, from every single win Gintoki’s ever held over him because <em>he’s </em>the sore loser. Katsura’s tilting his chin up, determined not to spill, determined not to swallow, because Gintoki wants to keep it there for now as proof that he’s one-upped Takasugi, <em>using Sakamoto. </em>Takasugi had declared he wanted to fuck Katsura’s mouth for all it’s worth, because that was his prize, but Gintoki had manipulated circumstance, brought Sakamoto here to put on a show that’s sure to get to him, <em>get him.</em> Has victory always been this short-lived? “You’re <em>twisted,” </em>Takasugi accuses, “You did all this to get back at me for beating your ass at janken?”</p><p>     Gintoki shrugs, neither affirming nor denying. He simply lives with being deemed some evil mastermind. He jerks a thumb at Sakamoto and raises an eyebrow. “The one who called Tatsuma over here was me but in the end, you and Zura got to have all the fun with him… I mean, Zura got that little blowjob and you got that little show.”</p><p>     Way to veer the blame from himself. Sakamoto is <em>speechless.</em> He has half a mind to be offended that he’d been used as a tool, summoned on an afterthought, but the other half can recognize that Gintoki’s looking at him with desire, like he wants him here—like he’s wanted him here <em>all along, </em>all this time, notwithstanding anything anyone is saying. And Takasugi and Katsura were always more than happy to have him. Overwhelmed, Sakamoto can’t seem to collect his thoughts.</p><p>     That’s not a problem for Gintoki, who does the talking for him: “Get over here, Tatsuma.” Sakamoto drags himself on his knees to where Takasugi is, and Gintoki welcomes him with a nod. “So listen, Takasugi didn’t want to share Zura’s mouth. Even if he’s done, you still can’t have it because it wouldn’t be fair to poor Takasugi-kun.” Gintoki says so mockingly, to both of them because Sakamoto <em>did </em>side with Takasugi for a while there, but his enemy’s friend doesn’t have to be his enemy, too. It’s conditional. “And so it’s fair to me, I won’t share Zura’s ass with you either. But, you can finish here—” Gintoki holds Katsura’s mouth open and steady, kissing his temple, “Zura, tongue.”</p><p>     Katsura lolls his tongue out as instructed, and it’s hot and sticky to the touch when it reaches Sakamoto, rubbing in time with Gintoki fucking him. Takasugi’s come up behind Sakamoto, reaching around his hips to pump him relentlessly. Sakamoto hisses under his breath, because is this allowed? Is this <em>allowed?</em> Sakamoto thinks it ought to not be, because there’s nothing in this universe he wouldn’t have given for this. But more pressing, his hands are free and they get their first touch at Katsura’s hair, sweeping his bangs out of his forehead. Katsura puts his hand on his, holds it, soothes his knuckles again, and Sakamoto swears he’s melting.</p><p>     He can hardly concentrate on Katsura’s hair while Takasugi forces his orgasm out of him, milks him of it, and Sakamoto doesn’t even realize he’s added to the mess in his mouth until he hears Katsura weakly cry out. Takasugi and Sakamoto stumble back when Gintoki steals Katsura away from them, mess in his mouth and all—throws him onto his back and kisses him, <em>mess in his mouth and all. </em>It’s positively filthy, the way they swap Sakamoto’s and Taksaugi’s cum back and forth between them like it’s nothing <em>and</em> everything.</p><p>     Sakamoto’s heart is racing—he feels like it could absolutely burst, when Gintoki fits a hand between them to touch Katsura, make him come all so he could come with him, eyes intent on Sakamoto up until he has to shut them tight from the intensity of all the sensations.</p><p>     Gintoki eventually, unceremoniously collapses onto his back beside Katsura, fumbling blindly for something clean up with. Takasugi pads over to Katsura’s other side to keep his treasure of hair out of his dirty mouth. The tension leaves Sakamoto’s body at the sight of the three of them all messed up, all tangled up with each other, heaving heavy breaths in silence while the room stinks of sex. It’s so very sweet. It’s also moderately awkward just sitting there when he’s definitely hard again.</p><p>     Sakamoto opens his mouth to say something, anything, along the lines of never getting enough of them, but the second he lets out a breath they all jolt upward at the same time, glancing at Sakamoto for all of two seconds before making eyes—challenging, competitive eyes—at one another.</p><p>     Katsura raises his fist, his voice, “Gintoki, Takasugi, you know how to play janken with three people, right?” He looks straight at Sakamoto. This—<em>he—</em>is anyone’s game now. “First comes rock—!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>shoutout to joui foursome enthusiasts you are all so fucking smart. anyway before you say anything im sorry that im bad at writing sexy things, i wasnt even really trying i just wanted circumstance to be like that for funsies. also sorry if my characterization isnt that great i just really, really, really like them. that is all.<br/>i'll probably edit this a lot in the coming days because that's how i am but for now it's these 8k words.. . . yup<br/>let me know what you think if you wanna? dont fight me though i beg. and thanks a lot for reading!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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